


Untouched by Tears; Completely Undefeated

by Becky_Blue_Eyes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Crack, F/M, I mean you always can I guess, OP Jon Thundercock Snow, Out of Character, Parody, Princess Irulan Deserved Better, References to Dune, Rhaenys says fuck a lot, Sorry Not Sorry, Spitefic, not meant to be taken seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:02:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27552766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Becky_Blue_Eyes/pseuds/Becky_Blue_Eyes
Summary: As a child, Crown Princess Rhaenys loved her mother’s stories of faraway planets where people could travel across the stars and a great hero conquered the universe. She knew the characters well, especially that of the Imperial Princess who was absorbed into her conquering husband’s mythos and lost everything. And now, atop a mighty dragon, her own conqueror has come for her hand.Fuck that.Or, a parody on the ever-popular “OP Dragonlord Sex God Jon Snow Conquers Westeros” trope. Anti OP Jon Snow, anti Jon Snow/Harem, basically everything anti this trope lol #PrincessIrulanDeservedBetter
Comments: 47
Kudos: 67





	Untouched by Tears; Completely Undefeated

Paul’s attention came at last to a tall blonde woman, green-eyed, a face of patrician beauty, classic in its hauteur, **untouched by tears, completely undefeated.** Without being told it, Paul knew her—Princess Royal, Bene Gesserit-trained, a face that time vision had shown him in many aspects: Irulan. _There's my key_ , he thought.— _Dune,_ Frank Herbert

* * *

It’s not ideal, according to conventional thought; Rhaenys understands that. After all, she shall be the first Queen Regnant of Westeros and the last attempt at that ended in a terrible dance. But life is different now. The realm is richer, the seasons are calmer, and she is the eldest daughter of three to King Rhaegar and Queen Elia. If the gods wanted a king, then her favorite aunt Viserra would’ve been born a boy and Aerys wouldn’t have choked to death during the Rebellion on wildfire. As it is, her lordly father is reconciled to not having a precious prince of prophecy, the high lords and gentry are pleased with her lady mother’s generous charities, and Rhaenys has an education unparalleled in the lands.

So if this crackpot “Aegon Dragonwolf” or whatever his name is, thinks that he can just waltz in and claim Westeros and she’ll just curtsy and smile? Rhaenys snorts to herself and reapplies her favorite cheek rouge. They say he’s married long-lost aunt Daenerys too, the one grandmother Rhaella died giving birth to in the Rebellion. And that they have dragons, and direwolves, and fire magics previously unheard of, and an entire army of Dothraki screamers. Rhaenys’s sisters Visenya and Alysanne widened their eyes to hear that, and dear Viserra told her Greyjoy husband that she’d gladly mount a dragon head over their mantle. Her father was horrified to see his by-blow come back to haunt him, Mama immediately went to the Ullers to discuss how they took down a dragon a few centuries prior and Rhaenys herself…

As a child, Rhaenys loved her mother’s stories of faraway planets where people could travel across the stars and a great hero conquered the universe. She knew the characters well, especially that of the Imperial Princess who was absorbed into her conquering husband’s mythos and lost everything. And now, atop a mighty dragon, her own conqueror has come for her hand.

Absolutely, and she cannot emphasize enough, _fuck that._

* * *

It’s quite the pageant when Aegon, Daenerys and what appears to be a bevy of buxom Essosi harem girls alight in Kigns Landing. It’s true that they have three dragons, a direwolf, a shrieking army, and both Blackfyre and Dark Sister. Quite impressive really. Here comes her Paul and Chani come to subjugate their own Princess Irulan and they’ve pulled out all the stops. Admittedly she’s gone through the effort to impress as well, with her gown of shimmering white silk and golden twine braided through her hair and black kohl lining her golden eyes. Let her people see their Maiden reborn in the face of foreign invaders, as Rhaenys is not above using foolish Westerosi xenophobia in her favor. She can’t afford to turn any sentiment in her favor down as a rather deadly game is now afoot.

Aegon strikes quite the imposing figure in all black with two broadswords strapped to his back. A scar down his furrowed eyebrow, his shoulders straining with muscle, his hair artfully tossed in effortless curls, one silver eye and one purple, the picture of perfect masculinity—Rhaenys must keep from laughing. Daenerys, impeccably beautiful and dressed in the scandalous Qartheen fashion, clings to his side and glares at her. All of his harem do really. Does he think she’ll fit right in? She smiles.

He makes a speech about being the rightful heir to the throne because supposedly her father annulled his marriage to her mother to marry the Lady Lyanna Stark, and Aegon seeks to claim the throne by right of blood and fire. Visenya scoffs under her breath, _me cago en su pinche madre_ , and Alysanne bites her lip. Mama squeezes Rhaenys’s shoulder, and her father says this means war. Aegon flexes and the sight of it brings her father to his knees, makes all the ladies in a three mile radius swoon and all the men cower.

“No, Father,” Rhaenys says with a sweet smile. “I cannot bear to see the country go to war, not over this.” Not over a crock of shit.

Let Aegon marry her. It’s his choice, and his grave.

* * *

It turns out that Aegon thinks Rhaenys to be some sort of wanton courtesan, from the way he gropes at her and presses her against walls. In public! Does he not notice how every pull on her skirt makes the gentry hate him that much more? He was not here for Mama rebuilding the country, not here for Rhaenys’s school rooms filled with every highborn maiden and lucky handful of merchant daughters. Not here for any of recent history where the die has been firmly cast in favor of the ruler they know, rather than the ruler they are being told to cower before.

Idiot. Honestly, she expected a harder game from him, at least some challenge and conflict! But whatever, Rhaenys supposes that this passes for courtship in whatever fuckhole he crawled out of. Alas for him, Rhaenys has no intention of bearing his spawn, nor for any of his concubines to either. It sees that they all know of pennyroyal and wild carrot, but none of them know of Summer Islander fennel and pomegranate. Their loss, and Rhaenys’s gain as it makes for a most delicious breakfast they all indulge in. She makes sure to add a bit of her dear nuncle Oberyn’s special spice into Daenerys’s perfume. She giggles to herself; spice is what those heroes in that childhood story fought over, and spice shall be this current story’s downfall as well.

Part of her regrets rendering her own flesh and blood infertile. But Daenerys dared to call Viserra a traitor for not immediately kowtowing to Aegon. No one talks to her family like that, not as long as Rhaenys can draw breath in her body. She sees the way Aegon covets her sisters, follows them with his dark eyes. Even though Alysanne is but a maid of fourteen. Fourteen! Aegon can go fuck himself with a Dornish cactus, not a fucking chance in this lifetime will Rhaenys ever allow him to touch a hair on her baby sister’s head!

She plans to make her great “Fuck You” on their wedding-coronation farce. It takes time to mount all the candles and crystals. It also takes time to mount the chandelier to her liking. And Aegon assumes she will poison him, or stab him, or…or Rhaenys doesn’t even know. He doesn’t know her, he doesn’t know her Westeros. He’ll know shortly enough.

Her lordly father is back on Dragonstone, partly because Aegon threatened to feed him to his dragon and partly because Rhaenys doesn’t need him hovering over her every step. Let him find comfort in solitude there, his great libraries and happier memories. While he’s away, and while Mama is “banished” to the North—as if fuddy-duddy Ned Stark would ever allow harm to come to her!—Rhaenys writes letters. She doesn’t send them by raven, of course, that’s too obvious. But she knows all of the maids, as she’s grown up with them. And they send her correspondence all over the Seven Kingdoms.

The Iron Islands are ever entwined on Rhaenys’s side, as Viserra is darling to both Theon and Asha. Aegon would be green with jealousy if he knew that! Visenya is betrothed to Lord Stannis Baratheon and Lady Jeyne Swann’s son Steffon, and Alysanne to ickle Sweetrobin Arryn who thankfully is a much better sort after Mama had him fostered in Dorne. Dorne of course is on her side, and perhaps if she marries Tyrion Lannister so will the Westerlands. Or why not Garlan Tyrell for the Reach, or Robb Stark himself from the North?

Then again, why not all three? Rhaenys laughs herself sick to imagine it. Oh, Aegon desires to have all of these wives, but she cannot imagine having so many husbands! She’ll leave that tripe for two-penny romance novels. She has a kingdom to set back on course.

* * *

“Rhaenys!” he calls for her from down the hall, and Rhaenys rolls her eyes. What she would give to have been born an Elaena, or a Shiera, or even a Jeyne! She’s heard enough of him yelling her name to last her a lifetime!

She makes herself be polite, as Mama’s always taught her that courtesy is the soul of court. “Yes, Lord Aegon?”

He pins her against a wall. _Again._ He leans in and growls in her ear. _Again._ “You will refer to me as your king.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Technically, our father is king still.”

He nudges his knee in between her legs. Ah, there he goes. He presses his nose into her hair and inhales, and Rhaenys cannot keep from shivering. He grins and she glares—he thinks she enjoys this! The fucking balls on this asshole! “You’ve got a fire in you, I like that.”

“Are our house words not Fire and Blood?” Her voice is as flat as her breathing. “Careful now, your wife will not appreciate finding you like this.”

“Dany knows that I am to have multiple wives. Perhaps she’ll join us in bed.” Eww. “Tell me, are you a virgin?”

Rhaenys prays to the gods for patience. She shipped Harrold Hardyng home for less than this! “Are you?”

He squeezes her waist tight enough to hurt and presses his hips against hers. Rhaenys wants to shake her head, he is so desperate to fuck his own sister! As if they need anymore inbred idiots in the Targaryens! “You are mine,” he growls again, like he is part direwolf. Maybe he is, Rhaenys doesn’t pretend to know everything about the marriage habits of the Starks. “And only mine. My Dornish queen.” He bites her neck and she yelps. “When I’m done with you, you’ll be begging for more.”

Rhaenys shrugs. It’s more polite than gagging. “I suppose we’ll see then.” She’d rather die than fuck him, or better yet, he’ll have to die. or the sake of every poor soul forced to watch Aegon dry hump her against a wall, it has to be him

* * *

To her delight, Sarella is the key to her plan. She’s always loved her sharp-minded cousin, the one who advises both her and cousin Arianne down in Sunspear. It turns out that her mother is a descendant of the Black Pearl of Braavos, and the Martells have their own drops of dragon blood. Just enough for Sarella to use with her brilliant mind and gentle nature, to steal one of Aegon’s dragons right from beneath his nose. Or are they Daenerys’s dragons? Quite the question. She’ll never get the answer to it, but it is of little matter.

Poor Aegon never sees it coming. Too busy fucking Daenerys and his harem silly in Rhaenys’s bed, too busy antagonizing the lords and threatening them with his swords, too busy being a conqueror and not a ruler. They can hardly find a crown big enough to fit his fat head.

And there, in the Great Sept of Baelor for all to see, Aegon reaches over to rip her maiden cloak from her shoulders. She shakes her head so that a tendril of hair escapes her updo. He reaches out to tuck it behind her ear in some semblance of seduction or forced kindness or whatever. She smiles, and bites his finger until blood squirts in her mouth.

He yells, and she pushes him forward while running back. Sarella and her dragon, aptly named the Sphynx, soar into the air to distract the other two dragons. Daenerys runs to Aegon’s side, Rhaenys winks at the High Septon, Aegon says he’ll beat the disobedience out of her, his direwolf howls.

And the chandelier falls on top of them.

Rhaenys spared no expense for that chandelier. She imported that Valyrian steel from Qohor! The adamantine diamonds from Qarth! The chain from the cheapest smithy in Flea Bottom! And no matter how lovingly crafted Aegon’s coronation armor, no matter how thickly woven Daenerys’s spider silk dress—human bodies are fragile. Direwolves are little better. They splatter beneath the chandelier, and just as Rhaenys planned, the diamonds all survive. She’ll donate them to charity later.

For now, she whistles high and shrill. The hidden scorpions mounted atop the Sept hear her call, and the general shrieking and hollering of the rabble. Six scorpions there, a dozen more across the general area, even a couple in the Red Keep. Perhaps it was a bit excessive but Kings Landing has been burnt down by enough dragons in its short lifespan. The Ullers mounted at their posts shoot at the dragons, and through the power of Uller insanity and probably a kilo of suspicious white power, they capture the dragos in heavy fireproof nets. Down they go, and down they’ll stay until Rhaenys finds new riders for them.

She brushes blood and dusts from her skirts, and tells the High Septon, “Is it possible to continue on from here for just myself?” Waste not want not, and her dress is quite lovely.

Rhaenys is crowned Queen Regnant to the bemusement of the crowd. Later, once she’s buried Aegon and Daenerys at Dragonstone with the rest of her batshit insane relatives, she employs Aegon’s former harem as seamstresses and school matrons to give them independence and self-agency. She calls home Mama from the North, her father from the south, and hugs her sisters, aunts and cousins close. No one shall ever threaten them again, not on her watch.

She dances with Lord Tyrion, and Ser Garlan, and Lord Robb, and decides that no matter who she marries, she shall be far happier with them than she ever would’ve been with Aegon.

When she does marry and has a daughter, she names her little girl Irulan, and laughs.

She laughs atop the Iron Throne, and tells her dearly departed brother to suck on _that._

**Author's Note:**

> Me cago en su pinche madre: Spanish for “I shit on your fucking mother”
> 
> If you couldn’t tell, I haaaaaaate how much the fandom has massive succ for Jon Thundercock Snow and his every expanding harem. Four cups of Irish coffee later and we have this spitefic
> 
> Leave hate if you want, I really don’t care lol


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